


They've Stolen It Away

by revengeandotherdrugs



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, First War with Voldemort, Friends to Lovers to Child Soldiers, I Was A Teenage Werewolf, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, In This House We Write Our Own Canon, Internalized Homophobia, Lots of References to 70's Punk and Post-Punk Bands, M/M, Marauders Era (Harry Potter), Other, Underage Drinking, the horrors of war
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:14:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22643197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/revengeandotherdrugs/pseuds/revengeandotherdrugs
Summary: A brief look at the evolution of the relationship between Remus Lupin and Sirius Black from their fifth year at Hogwarts until Halloween 1981.(Basically someone mentioned Assassin!Sirius and I had to have a little angsty frolic in that sandbox)
Relationships: James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Sirius Black/Original Character(s), Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Comments: 1
Kudos: 23





	1. It begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Where do things begin? This is a simple look at that.

Remus knew and had always known that things weren’t all well within the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black especially when it came to its eldest heir. The scared and quiet way Sirius slunk around the castle for the first days back from summer vacation every year was a carefully ignored sign of the reality that his friend was living in. But there was some kind of fierce pride that burned inside Sirius still, an aristocratic pretension that he never seemed to make the full effort to try and shake completely. The reality was that cutting ties would be disastrous for Sirius in ways the others could only guess at and that the Black name still opened doors that would have otherwise remained closed.

“They’re still my parents,” Sirius said one fateful day in the January of their 5th year, only minutes back from the Christmas holiday. They were sitting in the dormitory, Sirius allowing Remus to spread healing ointment on his split lip and bruised cheek with all the goodwill of a cat being forcibly bathed while James paced furiously nearby. 

The low golden light of the dormitory cast shadows beneath Sirius’ tired eyes, the bit-lipped frown of his mouth. The bruises, spreading even now, looked like purple thunderclouds beneath his pale skin. In his distraction, Remus poked a little too hard. Sending Sirius wincing, pulling away from the steadying hand Remus had placed on the back of his neck. He pushed his hair out of his eyes with an unsteady hand. 

“They’re fucking cunts is what,” Said James, bitterly, pulling at his hair in frustration and taking the corner a little too hard, almost crashing into Peter who was sitting on the floor by the furnace “Why I ought’a…”

“Language, Potter,” Sirius said, tsking in perfect imitation of McGonagall “What would Evans think?” 

“She’d probably be just as murderous as our Jamesy” suggested Peter, then added, quietly to himself, “what a woman, honestly”

James cast the stinging jinx, sending Peter squealing into a corner like a rodent. 

“Merlin’s hairy nuts, James! That hurt!” 

Sirius laughed along with James, loud and happy, seemingly back to his old self, but he pressed his knee a little harder into Remus’ thigh as if he needed the sensation of steady ground beneath it. It was Remus who had to pull away from the contact; too angry to be steady. He was angry at Sirius’ parents mostly, something of the wolf in him longing to bite off the hands that had caused such harm, but he was also angry at Sirius for going back again and again, at Peter and James for brushing it all off so easily and at himself for being angry in the first place. The rawness of the look Sirius shot him at the loss of contact only served to dig that hole of self-loathing even deeper. 

That was the first time Remus began to comprehend how complicated Sirius’ relationship with his family was. Nothing was ever purely black and white; there was pain and there was anger but there was loyalty too - Padfoot the dog always loyal no matter how many times he was kicked. If Sirius couldn’t hate them Remus would. 

The school year continued as usual for the next few weeks - Sirius and James got into trouble and invariably dragged Remus and Peter with them, they served detention, went to class and teased James for his pining after Lily. Sirius and James went to quidditch practice and came back again (and again, and again), while Remus ached abstractly for something he didn’t understand. Everything in its right place, safe as houses, safe as ever. 

Then the whispers started, soft sounds echoing through the castle hallways. Horror stories, half-believed half derided, passed from student to student in the dark like contraband. Muggles missing, half-bloods murdered in their beds, bands of werewolves - made rabid by magic and promises of power - roaming the country in packs, turning everyone they came across. Students stopped coming back to Hogwarts. First mainly Slytherins, then from other houses too. One or two students left in the middle of the night, disappearing as though they’d never been there at all. 

Sirius began saying vague and cryptic things about “taking up the mantle” and “family responsibility” always semi sarcastically and with enough derision that the others mostly ignored it. Remus, sensitive to Sirius’ moods for reasons he didn’t like to examine too closely, was the only one who seemed to see how much the idea truly repulsed him. In hindsight, of course, it made sense that Sirius would be the first to feel the wind changing. He was privy to the echoes of whispered conversations, the behind-closed-doors meetings his parents held after hours, the meaning-laden small-talk during the posh old money dinner parties he did his best to drink his way through. He knew, had always known, had seen this storm coming.

\--- 

In their 6th year, Sirius returned from the autumn break without Regulus. Remus found him on the roof of the Astronomy Tower, curled on the ledge of the parapet, bottle of firewhisky dangling precariously from between his fingers. He looked tired, completely worn, something bruised and almost scared in the way he hunched his shoulders against the spring chill. 

He hadn’t bothered to change into his robes, still wearing his torn jeans and leather jacket, his dirty Gryffindor house scarf wrapped snugly around his neck. His hair was a little longer than when Remus had seen him last, curling against his shoulders and the sharp, starved line of his jaw. He started at Remus’ approach, but his expression gentled with recognition after a short moment, a smile flashing across his pale face, his bitten lips - momentary softness in his cut-glass eyes. 

“I should give you a dress code violation,” said Remus, in the same tone he would use to gentle a frightened animal “and detention for the drinking”

“It’s the least I deserve,” he said by way of greeting, scooting to make room beside him on the ledge, tipping the bottle in drunken salutation and causing the contents within to slosh alarmingly “I’ve been a bad son” he continued “and a worse brother, and an even worse friend” 

Remus gently took the bottle from his limp hand, setting it down on the floor so he could join Sirius in his nook in the wall. He was longer than Sirius, lankier, and had to curl his knees much closer to his chest to fit. With a heartbreaking sigh Sirius, seemingly unconsciously, curled himself towards Remus, body a limp crescent of warmth against Remus’ side. The weight of Sirius’ head on his shoulder caused a wave of emotion so complicated and inexpressible that Remus’ heart skittered, terrified, like a rabbit before a fox. Sirius smelled of soap and smoke and something musty and uncomfortable and cold that must have been the smell of Grimmauld Place. 

“Reg is with them; he’s always been the better son, done what they want, _been_ what they want. I’ve tried, you know I have, sometimes, only a little really” his words were slurred, the soft waves of his hair under Remus’ cheek so dear and fragile suddenly, the warmth of his breath seemingly the only proof of life. “But there are things that I _can’t do_ , _won’t do_ and they know that and it makes them angry. It’s the fact that I won’t pass on the family name that makes them angriest I think; Reg is their last hope. They want to keep up appearances, for now, but Jesus Rem, the things they would do to me..” He shivered, whether from cold or the horror of the things he wasn’t really saying Remus didn’t know. Sirius dropped his voice to a whisper, dispassionate as breaking glass “Everything they’re saying, everything, all those horrible things are all true”

The sun had disappeared behind the mountains but a rim of light still lingered at the horizon, red and bloody as a fresh wound. Remus thought suddenly of violence and war and what it would be like to die.

“Surely,” said Remus, sounding unsure even to himself “surely it’s not as bad as all that”

“You’re right” Surius barked, somewhere between a laugh and an agonized shriek “it’s worse, it’s so much worse”

He seemed to calm for a moment, to reel himself back from whatever precipice he had approached. Loose-limbed he pulled himself upright, turning to face Remus, his body a dark shape against the backdrop of the bloody sky. Curled as he was Remus was of a height with Sirius, truly face to face with each other as they hadn’t been since second year. Some long-dormant feeling woke in the pit of Remus’ stomach and started roaring.

“There’s so much wrong with me” Sirius said, voice low, eyes half-lidded and glittering in the dim light. His breath was warm and alcoholic against Remus’ mouth, the proximity of him electric. 

“Oh, God” said Remus, to whom he wasn’t quite sure; himself perhaps, or no one, certainly not Sirius, not when his mouth was pressing against Remus’ with something adjacent to tenderness, not when there was the unsure flutter of his breath against his cheeks and the soft brush of his eyelashes, or, _or_. 

\---

They didn’t talk about the kiss. In all seriousness, Remus would have believed that Sirius had been too drunk to remember if it wasn’t for the cagy way Sirius acted around him afterward. Sirius had always been embarrassingly tactile, always throwing his arms around people, laying his head in their laps, hugging, holding hands, and leaving slobbery kisses on the cheeks of even his least friendly acquaintances - his affection was boundless and enthusiastic and physical. 

Remus hadn’t realized how much he had come to rely on Sirius’ physical proximity until suddenly it was gone. No more shaggy black head resting in his lap during long study nights in the common room, no more gentle tugs on his hair in greeting when they passed each other in the hall, no more skinny arms forcibly linked through his on the walks to and from classes or the dining hall. Instead, he was faced daily with a shaky, unsure Sirius, who made a point to sit on the other side of James at meals and spoke to him only when asked a direct question. The lack of contact made him feel unmoored, adrift, lonely in a way he’d never felt before. 

Beyond the lack of contact with Remus, Sirius seemed to be his same old self, same tactile, slobbery Snuffles but something about it bothered him like it hadn’t before. He didn’t begin to realize why until a specific event began to put the pieces into focus.

It happened on a sweltering evening in May, right after the advanced level charms class that Remus and James took with the 7th year Slytherins. Over the course of the year, it had become Sirius’ habit to meet them outside the door afterward and walk with them down to the great hall for dinner. On this particular occasion, he didn’t show up. They waited for a few minutes, standing on a window ledge to see over the tide of students leaving class, looking out for Sirius’ shaggy head and artfully safety-pinned robes among the crowd. 

“Come on Moons, I’m starving” James whined, clutching his stomach melodramatically “He probably just forgot” 

“Yeah, fine” said Remus, shaking his head to clear it. He got spaced-out and ornery during the week leading up to the full moon, the wolf growing stronger by the day until his body physically couldn’t contain it anymore. If he was acting particularly weird and prickly this month neither James nor Peter had said anything. 

They hopped down off their ledge and took off in the direction of the great hall. James was rambling about something inane - some new and exciting items that had just been stocked at Zonko’s, how good Lily looked in that green velvet dress she wore last weekend, what he was going to eat at dinner - but Remus wasn’t paying attention. He was distracted, feeling more wolf than usual, spiritually itchy, the wrong shape for his own skin. 

Turning into a shortcut corridor they almost ran smack into a figure - two figures - standing in the middle of it.

It was Sirius, caught up in the arms of a taller boy, their mouths pressed together in open-mouthed passion. The other boy had his hand in the curls at the base of Sirius’ neck, his long, sure fingers resting with care along the sharp curve of Sirius’ jaw. 

James wolf-whistled, causing the happy couple to jump apart self-consciously. Sirius’ eyes were glazed, his lips, kiss-reddened, curled into a smile when he saw it was only James and Remus. He said something to the other boy - Evan Olcott, Remus remembered, unhelpfully - who gave him a fond smile and a kiss on the cheek before retreating down the hall. Sirius bounded over with all the excitement of a puppy, wide-eyed and innocent, happy for once. 

Remus was struck by the sudden and overwhelming desire to be sick. 

“Hell yes, Black!” James said, pulling Sirius in for a noogie “My little boy finally grown and getting some sweet loving!” 

“Oh come off it!” He was red with embarrassment but his smile was pleased “We off to dinner then?” 

“Yeah, I’m starved, and you need to give me details, all of them”.

“Yeah right. No way” Sirius laughed, making a disgusted face, then, turning back around to look at Remus, who was still rooted to the floor in shock “Coming Rem?” 

“I-” Remus felt like his heart had dropped out of him completely, leaving a hole of sucking emptiness in the middle of his chest. “I - bathroom” he finished lamely, fiddling with the frayed strap of his book bag to avoid looking Sirius in the eyes. 

“Yeah, fine fine” said James who was pulling on Sirius’ arm impatiently “but I need food and gossip _now_. I can’t believe you didn’t tell me!” he chastised. Sirius’ reply was lost as they rounded the corner. 

Remus spent a moment wrestling with himself and the urge to vomit all over his shoes. He knew all about homophobia, of course. Hope Lupin, while she had been steadfast in her decision to raise her son with the values of the rather more lenient Wizarding World had been unable to convince Remus’ grandparents to be anything other than ‘ _of their time’_. He’d sat through many a Sunday dinner during which the topic would turn to “those blasted homosexuals” as his grandfather called them and Remus would curl a little bit closer in on himself, feeling like there was something very very wrong with the world. 

This emotion wasn’t disgust, or at least not of the same furious kind exhibited by his grandfather. It was more accurately described as a mixture of deep-seated pain and heart-rending fear. It was as though he had been walking around with a broken leg his whole life without realizing it and the sudden awakening to the pain of his shattered femur only served to make him wonder what else he’d been ignoring. 

He made his way back to Gryffindor Tower in a daze, absentmindedly walking _through_ at least one ghost without realizing it. He wished he was someone else, or maybe dead, he couldn’t quite decide. Maybe if he was _normal_ Sirius would like him instead, if he was pureblood, if he wasn’t a monster. 

It was Evan Olcott that Sirius had been kissing; the Hufflepuff head boy, a handsome, old-family, 7th year with a shaggy blonde crew cut and the beginnings of a mustache who wore red high top sneakers under his robes and liked the Muggle band The Rolling Stones - not the brightest but he was kind and gentle and human, the opposite of Remus - what Sirius deserved. 

The thought of _what Sirius deserved_ infuriated him, on the one hand he was furious with Sirius for kissing someone else but on the other, and more important, hand he was furious with _himself_ for even thinking that way. This was a theme in Remus’ life, being angry with himself for being angry. He made up his mind to pretend the whole thing had never happened, electing instead to go to bed early and parry Sirius’ attempts to rouse him with the excuse of a vicious, moon-related headache. 

\---

It took an entire day for Remus to finally boil over. All four of them were sitting in their accustomed corner of the common room. Peter was reading the funny pages from the Evening Prophet under the table, his intermittent sniggering like nails on a chalkboard to Remus’ moon-sharpened nerves. Sirius, playing a game of chess with James, kept glancing up at him from beneath his shaggy fringe, a half-smile on his lips as if in challenge. They were ostensibly studying but Remus was the only one who had cracked a book all evening, nevermind that he’d been reading the same page over and over for the past half hour, vision gone red and a furious pounding in his ears.

He thought about the possessive way that Evan had clutched at the back of Sirius’ head and wanted to rip that hand off. He thought of the way Sirius’ mouth had felt against his all those months ago on the roof of the Astronomy Tower - the white-lightning crackle, the soft perfect heat - and wanted to feel that again. He thought about how much he wanted to kiss Sirius again and wanted to blow out his own brains (and round and round and round).

It all became too much suddenly, causing him to slam his book into the middle of James and Sirius’ game, sending pieces flying. 

“Merlin’s Balls, Moony!” yelped James, leaping backward to avoid a startled knight who, in its panic, was attempting to stab everything in sight, including James’ hand.

“What is wrong with you?!” Remus yelled. Conversations in the common room ground to a halt, confused and curious faces turning in their direction. Under normal circumstances, he would have been embarrassed, lowered his voice, taken the argument elsewhere or even simply sat down and let the others forget about it. Not tonight. Tonight he was furious for no discernible reason and the wolf would be satisfied with nothing short of a shouting match. 

“Me?” Asked Sirius, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair “do you want a fucking list?” 

“Remus” James hissed, trying to place a comforting hand on his shoulder and pull him back into his seat at once “What on earth’s got your knickers in a knot?” 

“It’s him!” he shouted, jabbing a finger at Sirius who was still looking infuriatingly impassive “He’s the fucking problem!” 

“What on earth did I ever do to you?” 

“You..! you…! _You_ saw him!” he turned to James for help, both of whom looked completely shocked and at a loss for words “After Charms on Wednesday, playing fucking t-tonsil hockey with Evan Olcott in the middle of the hall!” 

Sirius barked a laugh at that, hunching forward a little. If he had hackles they would have been raised - it was a relatively new movement, learned from his dog form, the sight of it sent Remus into a tailspin. “Wasn’t aware that I was talking to my damn mother. Didn’t know you had it in you to be such a bigot, Moony” 

That brought him up short and sputtering “I’m not - I’m not…” 

“Does it bother you that much?” Sirius had stood up, his hands claw-like on the varnished surface of the table, his expression mocking, his eyes like chips of ice “the idea of me snogging a boy. I bet you’re just curious, bet you wish I’d told you that we do other things together, that I let him put his cock in my ass and that I really really like it when he does -” 

Someone in the room whistled, someone else shouted: “tell us more!” The wolf inside of Remus snapped, something unhinged and possessive coming loose suddenly and overwhelmingly. 

“I wish you would both just piss off and die!” 

Remus wished he could take the words back as soon as they left his mouth, a pit of dread and regret opening in his stomach. It felt like falling over a cliff, suddenly he’d gone too far and everything he cared about was freefalling towards the unforgiving ground below. Sirius looked like he’d been slapped, his mouth opening on nothing and his eyes going wide and hurt. A moment of stunned silence followed, during which Remus heard, rather than felt, Sirius cut him off entirely.

“Sirius” he said, all the anger gone suddenly, guilt sitting heavy in its place, it felt like a knife had been plunged into his chest, every breath hurt “Sirius, I..” 

“You know what, Lupin?” he said, venom layered on thick “I just fucking might”

There were tears on his lashes, just glimpsed, before he shoved his hands in his pockets and, with lowered head, pushed past Remus to the portrait hole and out into the hall. 

The common room was utterly silent, all eyes on Remus who was feeling more and more awful by the minute. He wanted to run after Sirius, to apologize, to explain, but he was rooted to the spot by the weight of everything he’d just done, pinned like a fly to a specimen card by all the judgment in the room. 

“Nice one Moony” James hissed, jostling painfully into Remus’ side on his way after Sirius. 

“Yeah, nice one Moony” said Peter from under the table “What do you care who he snogs anyway? it’s not like you’re sweet on him or anything”

The stinging jinx he cast on Peter was, perhaps, a bit stronger than he’d meant it to be but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He found his feet suddenly and took the stairs to the dormitory two at a time, hoping he was far enough away from the common room by the time he started sobbing that no one would hear. 

\---

He didn’t see Sirius for the entirety of the next day, not at breakfast, or lunch, or in any of the classes they were supposed to share that day; for all intents and purposes, it was as though Sirius had simply disappeared. He was sick with worry and guilt, turning the things he’d said over and over in his mind, hating himself more and more with each revisiting. 

By the time the school day was done and Dumbledore was carefully locking him into the shrieking shack with a plate of sandwiches for his dinner, he was feverish with anxiety and shame, wondering if the others would even show up, if they were too angry with him, if he would have to face the moon alone for the first time in over a year, if he’d just ruined everything by being so selfish. 

For the first time, he welcomed the wolf, the clarity and emptiness that came with it. In that momentary clarity before the wolf clawed him open he came to a realization; he loved Sirius, perhaps always had, perhaps would never love anyone else. Admitting that was like surrendering to a heart attack; a surrender of his entire life. He gave himself over to the pain and let it consume him.

The wolf howled and the world faded into black and white.

\---

The fact of it was, Remus had little memory of what his wolf-self did - it was a bit like being black-out drunk; he would feel only moderately altered while it was happening, but would wake to find he’d done things he didn’t remember and that the course of the night. After so long the only thing to feel during a shift was fear, not at _becoming_ the wolf - he’d long grown past that - but at what he would consciously do and then forget about when he came to. 

Remus often wondered, for philosophical purposes, which was his real self. If he’d been a monster for so long that it didn’t matter that he’d been born human. He began to feel that he was only truly himself when he turned, that the wolf was the only thing that allowed him to let loose - to feel strongly enough that he broke. 

\---

He woke to the comforting white walls and herbal smell of the hospital wing. His wounds had been bandaged and charmed into submission and every bone in his body ached like a growing pain - nothing new. He groaned as he rolled his head to the side, cracking the vertebrae in his neck only to be brought up short. There was someone in the chair by the side of the bed. Remus’ heart leaped into his throat and started attempting to take evasive action. 

“Wotcher” said Sirius. He was hunched over with his elbows on his knees and his chin cupped in his hands, a hank of hair falling in a perfect superman-style ‘c’ shape over one eye. He looked a mess - hair tangled and unwashed, circles the color of bruises under both eyes, lips chapped from being worried at - but he was still the most beautiful thing Remus had ever woken up to.

“I’m sorry” he said, all in a rush, his voice scratchy and mouth feeling as though it was filled with cotton “Gosh Pads I’m so so so sorry. I didn’t mean it, not even for a minute. I’d understand if you don’t want to be friends anymore but I must express how truly sorry I am. I let the wolf get the best of me which I know isn’t any sort of excuse… who you snog and where isn’t any of my business, unless of course you do _you know_ in my bed in which case I’d have a problem with that -” He trailed off in confusion, heart feeling wrung out. Sirius’ had covered his face with his hands and his shoulders were shaking but he wasn’t crying, he was.. Laughing? “What? What did I say?”

“Remmy” He peeked out between his fingers at Remus, storm-cloud eyes bright with mirth “you are honestly the only person I can think of, besides maybe my uncle, who would use the phrase “I must express...” completely seriously”. 

“I mean it” 

“I know” 


	2. My future and my past are presently disarranged

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for mild mention of self-harm and recreational drugs.

Things returned mostly to normal, or at least as normal as they’d ever been. The Marauders began their seventh year on a high - promptly losing Gryffindor 300 points (their highest one day score yet). Peter ate so much at the welcome feast that he gave himself a stomach ache, James spent all evening attempting to convince a wan-looking Sirius to haze the first years, and Remus looked on, overwhelmed with familiar fondness. All the pieces were back together; his friends, the warmth of the Great Hall, echoing with laughter and the almost frantic start-of-term energy, the promise of the term to come; everything in its rightful place. The only thing that had changed was Remus’ understanding of himself. He wasn’t afraid of Sirius’ proximity anymore but it _had_ started to hurt. He thought he understood, in his own way, why all those princesses in the old ballads threw themselves out of towers over unrequited love. There was a part of him (a very small part) that wished to go back to being afraid and angry simply to avoid the hurt of it all. 

He tried, halfheartedly, to project his feelings for Sirius onto other boys and found that it worked, to an extent. Muggle porno mags did it for him too if he was being honest - photos of busty women with their knickers off were all well and good for a wank - while Daniel Crisp, the Ravenclaw Quidditch team beater, became a receptacle for fantasies of getting shagged senseless in the locker rooms. The fact remained, however, that nothing made his heart leap in quite the same way as the thought of Sirius’ laugh did. 

He’d missed Sirius all summer, on purpose, of course, had carefully cut off contact in order to train himself for the inevitable. Remus was under no illusion that he would see any of the others much after graduation; he was the odd man out, the halfblood, the half _breed_ , why would any of them want to hang around with him once they weren’t forced to any longer? It hurt, naturally, being so lonely

He fell in with a group of inter-house, muggleborn, “burnouts”, if only to serve as their goody-goody and lookout. It was with them that he learned of the muggle drug “marijuana”, and discovered how it quieted the wolf momentarily on the days before the moon. For much of that year, Remus found himself carefully sneaking back to the dormitory in the early hours of the morning only to sleep for a brief period before waking up to classes and homework and to do it all again. He was exhausted but he felt normal, truly normal, for the first time. He halfway believed that if he got high enough he would become human again, for real this time.

On the romantic side, Sirius and Evan Olcott seemed to have parted ways amicably and without fanfare at some point over the summer, news which, privately, Remus celebrated and hated himself for celebrating. James and Lily had gotten together properly, for real, sometime around Halloween and James had taken up the uncomfortable habit of bursting into tears while drunk and waxing poetic about how beautiful and wonderful she was. Remus, for his part, spent an awkward month and a half with Marlene McKinnon before Marlene had admitted she liked girls exclusively and that they should probably break up. Remus had replied that he liked boys just as well as girls and therefore couldn’t judge. It had been liberating to say it, finally, to give himself a name. 

There was, however, an underlying anxiety to everything, to the whole charade of growing up. They stuck their fingers in their ears and hummed, ignored the encroaching darkness so they could take their exams, kiss each other in hallways, and pretend that everything was alright. The whispers were growing stronger all over; parades of masked wizards marching through villages, casting a horrible snake and skull insignia over the remains of the havoc they wreaked. They were getting bolder, killing Muggleborns in their beds or in broad daylight, soap-boxing in public places yelling about blood purity and a messiah who would bring an end to death. The specter of danger had turned from a ghost story into close and present reality. Through it all, Remus watched Sirius go to war with himself. 

Sirius clearly knew more than he was letting on, spending more and more time either walking by the black lake alone or in his bed with the curtains drawn and a silencing charm cast so thick that they could only feel the vibrations of the music he was listening to in the floorboards. On the rare occasions that he did emerge, he was rail-thin, whittled down by an anxiety that none of the others quite understood. He studied enough to get by but not enough to excel as he had before, his preoccupied silences unnerving and out of character.

“It’s depression,” said Peter one afternoon while the common room continued to shake rhythmically for the fourth consecutive hour. This time it was James who hexed him. 

Although Sirius was living with the Potters on a much more permanent basis and had been, as far as Remus understood it, disowned, communication with his family was forcibly kept open at the urging of none other than Dumbledore. Letters from his father, stilted, formal things received once a month as they had been for seven years, were tossed into the fire unopened but diligently replied to.

_“Dearest Papa, Thank you for your letter. How is Reg? I hope all is well at home. - Your son, Sirius”_

He would bite his lip to bleeding over these short missives, often being forced to start again on account of the staining of the parchment. It was as much communication as it was a blood ritual of tie binding Remus realized, a violent upkeep of pretension that Sirius had been taught to abide by since birth. 

It broke Remus’ heart, coming into the dormitory after a night spent getting too high to think, to find piles of bloodied parchment in the bin by Sirius’ bed alongside the wadded up shape of another of Sirius’ ruined shirts; red blood long gone brown around the broken slashes across the arms. There was a large, unnamable part of Remus that wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed beside Sirius and offer him - _anything_ \- any kind of comfort, but the tightly drawn curtains of Sirius’ bed always stopped him. Walking past it to fall into his own bed, alone, felt as though he’d swallowed glass every time.

\---

Peter and Remus were extended invitations to come stay at the Potter estate for January, an opportunity Remus was perhaps a little embarrassingly quick to accept. The fact of the matter was that Remus missed his friends (missed Sirius) and despite all his attempts to sever ties, the loneliness still didn’t sit right. In addition to that, a distraction from the near-constant panic attack that had sprung up as he faced down his final months at Hogwarts (“how will you get a job?” “a postgraduate degree is too expensive as well as fundamentally useless for someone like you” “how will you live?” “how will you survive?”) was desperately needed. 

The Potter estate, a tasteful but sprawling melange of styles and eras situated amidst a large swath of enchanted parkland several miles from Bath, was a place that Remus had visited once and dreamed about ever since. Coming up the drive in the enchanted Model T that Euphemia had sent to collect them from the train station, Remus was struck anew by how homey the massive, sprawling estate looked. He couldn’t help but be impressed at the sight of the many-turreted structure with candles glittering in all its hundred windows, a sanctuary of warm gold amidst the snowy chill. 

James, notably shoeless and without winter coat of any variety, met them halfway down the drive and proceeded to run alongside the car, shouting excitedly; eyes wild and his breath pluming like smoke in the freezing air. 

“You’re an absolute caveman, James” Remus chastised as he attempted to lift his trunk out of the back seat of the Model T, surprised when it was lifted by magic and carried inside by some invisible force. James, bouncing from foot to bare foot, simply grinned and pulled him into a crushing hug.

Lily met them in the palatial front hall, wrestling herself into a scarf and mumbling angrily about how James was going to kill himself with cold if he wasn’t more careful. She kissed Remus on the cheek, a cashmere dream in green and gold, familiar in a way that was entirely new. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” she said, casting a warming charm over James who had just come through to the entry hall and started loudly complaining about how freezing his feet were “I was starting to get worried about Sirius” 

Remus was about to ask what she meant - why she would possibly have cause to be worried about Sirius before Sirius appeared, as though summoned at the top of the stairs. He looked worn, his hair long and unwashed, an almost haunted expression on his thin face. The sight of him alone was enough to have Remus’ breath catching in his throat. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed Sirius over the past two weeks, that the feelings of panic and loneliness that roiled inside him could be soothed simply by proximity. It took everything he had not to run up the stairs and fling himself into Sirius’ arms. 

After that there was little opportunity for private conversation. Euphemia and Fleamont, old and elegant as a couple in a Rembrandt painting, came down from the library in a flurry of hugs and kisses and offers of food. Sirius greeted Peter warmly but mostly avoided Remus, giving him a brief wave and a half-smile but nothing else. Remus, for his part, avoided Sirius in just the same way, taking his cues. 

They ate dinner in the Gothic-style dining room (a delicious curried goat with rice and bread that Euphemia explained was a family recipe). Remus watched Sirius throughout dinner, the way he threw his head back and laughed at something Lily said to him, the long line of his throat when he swallowed a sip of his pumpkin juice. He looked better than when Remus had last seen him; still anxiety-starved and volatile, but it was almost as though he had relaxed into it, as though he was finally comfortable enough to let everything crash down so he could begin going round and picking up the pieces. 

They retreated, at last, to the Georgian parlor for pudding and socialization. The house was as it appeared from the outside, a strange and eclectic blend of styles. None of the furniture matched but there was an elegance to it all the same. The artifacts that crowded the shelves and mantle pieces were far from clutter; they were souvenirs of a long life well-traveled (Fleamont had excitedly told Remus about the several wonderful years he and Euphemia had spent living and traveling all across Africa in the early 1870s after Remus had asked after a particularly interesting wooden figurine of a half transformed werewolf). Remus couldn’t help but think that there was no other place James could have possibly grown up, the chaos of it, the brightness. In a similar way Sirius looked at home here too, yet another piece out of place, something that belonged through his not belonging. 

Eventually Euphemia and Fleamont retired to their bedroom for the evening, making each of them promise to wake them should they need anything during the night. 

“I really like your parents,” Said Peter once they’d gone; he was lounging on the floor looking through a photobook about the demiguise that Euphemia had taken out for him when she’d learned of his interest in magical creatures

“They’re alright I suppose” replied James, half-joking, sitting back and opening a cabinet under one of the bookcases with a flick of his wand “alright, who wants a drink?” 

They drank. Remus, less fond of alcohol than most, stuck to beer while the others sat in a circle on the rug and held a contest to see who could do the most shots of Bulgarian vodka in a minute. Lily, in true fashion, won the contest with 5 while Peter tapped out after his first one, sputtering incoherently and a little green. 

“Good on ya Peetie,” James said, belching surreptitiously and patting a dry heaving Peter on the back “It’ll put some hair on your chest, at last” 

“I hear they brew this stuff in the basement at Durmstrang” said Lily, taking a sip of her tea to clear the taste from her mouth “It’s like those old monastery breweries from the middle ages where the monks would brew beer and wine, it’s part of the curriculum” 

“The fuck is a monk?” asked Sirius, taking the half-empty bottle and retreating to an out-of-the-way armchair with it. 

“Devotees of a Muggle religious order” said Remus absently, returning to his seat at the card table and opening another beer. 

“You really do know everything,” said Sirius, impressed. It was the first thing Sirius had said directly to him all night and it sent his heart into a series of frantic cartwheels that left him dizzy. 

“D’you think I could make up a religious order?” He asked, changing topics on a dime “Have some monkeys who worshiped me and brewed me alcohol?”

“First of all they’re called monks,” Said Lily, reaching behind her to pluck the bottle from Sirius’ loose grasp “Although I daresay monkeys could be taught to brew beer if given the incentive. Second of all, When it’s all about you that’s called a cult.” 

“Well pardon me, professor” retorted Sirius, sticking his tongue out at her as she passed the bottle back to him “perhaps I said what I meant”

“Ugh” said James from his own armchair, kicking his feet up onto the low table, a student prince loose-limbed from drink “I really can’t wait to be done with school. Imagine” he continued, slightly softened gaze resting on Lily where she still sat on the rug with Peter’s head in her lap “Imagine being able to do whatever you want with your life”. 

“I dunno” said Peter, blinking one sad brown eye open to glance at James sidelong “I honestly don’t know how I’ll cope without being told what to do all the time” 

“You’re such a limp dick, Peter” Sirius said, shadowed in the armchair “no backbone at all” 

Lily sighed, turning her face towards James, some kind of aching tenderness in her expression “I don’t know, I’ll rather miss Hogwarts. I’m halfway afraid that once we graduate this whole thing will disappear” 

Remus understood what she meant. Whether you were returning to a life without magic or a life without friends, Hogwarts stole back every ounce of wonder it ever gave. 

“Nothing’s going nowhere” James said “I can promise you that” 

Silence fell as each of them saw that promise for what it was; nothing but whistling in the dark. 

“I’m gonna be a highwayman when I grow up” Said Sirius, the first one with the courage to break the tension, his voice drink-slurred and slightly muffled, as though he was speaking through a smile “an absolute wastrel; subsisting on a diet of women, wine and song until I die” 

James snorted “We all know you only go in for two of those things, Pads”. 

“Fair,” said Sirius, taking a swig of vodka straight from the bottle “but finding some way to end it all is really the only option I’ve got”

“Don’t talk like that” It was out of Remus’ mouth before he thought of it; the beer bypassing his higher facilities. He imagined Sirius’ lifeless body laid out in some crypt somewhere, his empty eyes, his blue lips. He imagined a world without Sirius in it and felt like his chest was being torn open, bloody and raw and scream-worthy. 

“What’s that Rem?” Asked Lily from her place on the floor; she was pink-cheeked, in the firelight, slightly puffy from alcohol and warmth, her green eyes sparkling, her voice kind. 

“No, n-nothing. I said that I always wanted to be a professor” Remus hadn’t realized it until he said it out loud but it was true. 

“Of course Moony” Peter exclaimed “We all knew that” 

“I’ve always thought it would be nice to be a professor too” said Lily, quietly “one day” 

“You need a post-grad for that” said James, pragmatically, looking at Lily as if he’d never really seen her before; equal parts admiration and disbelief. 

“Well then we’ll go and get one, won’t we Rem? And we’ll go teach at Hogwarts together” She said it with such certainty, like it was a given, like there was some kind of absolute future where they both lived and they both got to do what they loved (some world where they had futures at all). The soap-bubble illusion of possibility broke Remus’ heart.

“That’s dangerous,” James said, his teeth, bared in a grin, white as ivory in the firelight.”Remus will be headmaster of Hogwarts before you can blink. Imagine the havoc”

A warm interlude followed during which James and Sirius had a heated argument about Elton John. 

“You introduced him to me Sirius!” 

“Yeah, in _third year_!” 

“That doesn’t make him _bad”_

Sirius huffed in indignation, crossing his arms and sitting back in the chair. “You’re right but you oughta give Stooges a second go round” 

“I _will not_ ”

Lily, caught Remus’ eye and pulled an expression that was so fond and exasperated that Remus had to stifle a laugh into his elbow. It felt a bit like he was looking through a window into some strange alternate world where everything was normal, where everything was safe. The firelight cast dancing shadows across his friends’ faces, and wrapped them in comforting closeness. While the room, with all its lingering history and dusty artifacts, seemed to gather close as if it too wanted to take part in this little display of vibrant, defiant, living. He wished he knew a spell to keep time in a bottle and live in this pleasant chaos forever. 

“Well I dunno what you lads want to do for sleeping arrangements” James said after a while. He was tipsy, his face flushed and his hand, gripping Lily’s, clearly a little sweaty. She didn’t seem to mind, simply leaned into his knee, giggling a little. “Peetie usually takes the guest room on the left but you’re welcome to it Moony” 

Remus realized, with a bit of a sinking feeling, how much time his friends had spent together without him and how far apart they would likely grow as soon as the whole charade of school was over. 

“That’s fine” he said, watching the way the candlelight caught in his beer bottle; little amber reflections, marred by bubbles, moving and glittering against the tabletop. 

“Perfect” said James, clapping his hands “you can stay next to Pads then” with that sorted he pulled Lily to her feet and out of the room. Remus could hear them giggling and knocking into each other all the way to James' room.

Remus waited until everyone had made their way upstairs before taking the time to roll himself a joint and take it outside. As he passed the stairs he glimpsed the flicker of candlelight on the landing and heard the vague, warped, tones of a guitar from Sirius’ room. The sight of that flickering honey light in the shape of a barely opened door filled Remus with a pain he couldn’t quite wrap his head around.

The grounds were snow-sugared, a glittering fairyland of still silence. He sat himself on the garden wall, mind going fuzzy already. It took some imagination to place this quiet, fairytale place within a world in which such horror lurked but Remus treated it as an exercise. The moon was almost full, the brightness of it reflecting like a light off a mirror on each individual leaf and blade of grass. There was, he concluded, a violence to the landscape; It felt like standing amidst a forest made out of knives, each angle cold and sharp enough to cut. 

Sirius, lean and haunting in his long leather coat, resolved himself out of the shadows that ran alongside the other side of the house, the cherry of his cigarette casting stark shadows beneath his cheeks. 

“Wotcher” he said, blowing smoke out of the corner of his mouth, moving to sit next to Remus on the wall. He looked like an icon of some old god, dark hair, clouded eyes, skin reflecting the same frozen rainbow as the snow. “what’ch’u got there? Didn’t know you smoked”

“It’s weed” said Remus, too high by that point to care about pretending. Then, to Sirius’ blank expression “It’s a muggle thing. It feels good” 

The line of Sirius’ body was a warm weight against Remus’s side. He passed the joint to Sirius, who shrugged and took a deep drag. 

“You have to hold it, just a little” He explained, almost laughing at the sight of Sirius’ elegant, patrician features contorted in a barely contained cough. Sirius held it like a champ, and Remus imagined what he was feeling; the soft roll of the high following the sharp downward spiral of the drunkenness. Eventually, Sirius relented and coughed, his eyes watering, a plume of smoke issuing from his mouth.

“Merlin that’s awful. You can finish that” Said Sirius, passing the joint back to Remus, holding his ribcage. He hacked again, breath rattling in his lungs when he straightened up and met Remus’ gaze. “How can you stomach that stuff?” 

“It takes practice” 

“Ugh, don’t know why you’d want to” 

Their eyes were still locked, Sirius’ pupils blown from that first hit, his irises only a thin circle of mirror grey barely visible in the moonlight. Remus had stopped breathing long ago, his pulse pounded in his ears like waves breaking against a rocky coastline, unbearable, unending. Sirius, slowly, hungrily almost, bit his bottom lip; gaze brooding, the proximity of him electric. Remus imagined that soft warmth beneath his own mouth, under his own teeth, and _almost_ reached out to touch. He felt as though he would die without Sirius, he felt as though he would die _with_ Sirius; he froze in his own indecision and _longed._

“You should come by my room and listen to a record,” Sirius said, abruptly breaking the tension, hopping off the garden wall and flicking the butt of his cigarette into the underbrush as though nothing had happened “I’m not ready to sleep just yet”

Remus took a moment to force breath back into his lungs with the raw-passion of someone desperate to live, before carefully stubbing out the joint and following Sirius inside. 

Sirius’ room was on the first floor right off the landing - solidly located in the oldest part of the building. It was an enormous room, practically the size of Remus’ mum’s entire cottage, with medieval stone walls and an astonishingly large lancet window set with blue glass through which the moonlight shone in dreamy aquatic refractions. 

“Wine?” asked Sirius, fiddling with the record player and a record in some hideous bright pink sleeve with a refrigerator, not turning at Remus’ approach. The wine bottle, controlled wandlessly for the moment by Sirius, moved to hover above a second glass, expectant. 

“No” Remus said “no thanks” 

The bottle settled back into its crate and re-corked itself with a simple crooking of Sirius’ pinky. 

Remus wasn’t quite sure where to sit, the desk chair occupied as it was by the case of wine, so he simply lingered in the doorway shifting from foot to foot awkwardly. Sirius’ room was, like every room in the Potters’ house, a riot of color and _things_. Although, among the pleasant discordance of the green brocade bedspread, the decorative Indian silks on the walls, and the deep mahogany and mother of pearl Art Deco writing desk, there was very little which spoke to Sirius’ presence. There was the record player and the case of records of course, a case of wine and several dirty glasses, the half-full ashtray on the window sill, the pile of books and parchment which had been left haphazardly on the desk as though Sirius had abandoned a project midway through. But there were no posters, no photographs, no sentimental knick-knacks, barely any clothes; It was as though Sirius only owned what he could carry with him. 

The first notes of the record sounded; a devilish tapping and a pulsating line of bass. Sirius flung himself backwards onto the bed, sighing, loose limbed, and beckoned for Remus to join him with a regal wave of his hand. Remus, chuckling, moved to obey; he could never deny Sirius, the little Dauphin, not even if he tried. 

They lay for a while legs dangling off the side of the bed, heads pressed together ear to ear, shoulders touching. Remus was pleasantly high, the music feeling like velvet in his ears, the vaults of the ceiling high above his head fading in and out of focus, Sirius a warm smoke scented certainty next to him. They were so close Remus could hear him grind his teeth, feel the flex of muscles in his wiry shoulders. He longed to reach out and touch that beautiful milk-pale stretch of skin behind Sirius’ ear that he caught out of the corner of his eye, but the prospect of moving exhausted him so he simply thought, and imagined. 

A rustle next to him, Sirius' arm coming round, bridging that impossible distance, to intertwine his fingers with Remus'. His hand was chilly, bony fingers like live wires making Remus' hair stand on end.

“Sirius…” he started, unsure of how to finish. 

“Shh” said Sirius “this is my favorite song” 

They lay in silence for a while longer while the A side ran out. Sirius made no move to change it, his thumb making lazy circles on the back of Remus' hand. 

“Let’s run away” Sirius said, voice muffled, half asleep. “Just us, let’s go”

“Where to?” Remus asked, as much to humor him as anything else, his heart catching and releasing in painful fits which he did his best to hide.

“Iceland maybe” he replied “Somewhere in South America? Soon though. It’s not safe for you here anymore - for none of us really, but especially you” 

“Go to sleep Sirius” 

Sirius sighed, a half-asleep sound. “I just don’t know what I would do with myself if anything should happen to you” It was so soft and so slurred that Remus was halfway convinced he had imagined it, hoping beyond hope and yet hardly daring to. Sirius, for his part, made a muffled and contented sound, curling towards Remus like a backwards comma, their hands still entwined between them, and seemed to fall asleep. 

Remus lay awake for most of the night, tortured both by Sirius’ proximity and everything they had halfway said. When he finally slept, sometime around dawn, he dreamed of the hellish warmth of Sirius' mouth and drowning in deep dark water. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you can name the album Sirius puts on I will give you a digital cookie.


	3. The Son and Heir of Nothing In Particular

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Marauders leave Hogwarts for good, Remus gets an uncomfortable insight into Sirius' life outside of school and this fic earns its E rating (you have been warned)

Remus’ last day at Hogwarts fell on a blisteringly hot and hazy day in late June. It should have been a bittersweet and hopeful day, last exam finished, last paper turned in, a sigh of relief and a hope for the future. In its place rested a pall of anxiety and latent tension, the air in the castle thick with uncertainty and heat. He spent the day visiting his favorite corners of the castle; the library, the little nook behind a tapestry of a lamb that no one else seemed to ever know about, the wild copse of trees down by the lake where they’d used to study when the weather was nice, one specific window at the top of the astronomy tower. He spent a long time in the window, watching the clouds chase one another across the clear sky, the way they trailed their shadows across the familiar terrain of the castle grounds, green with summer, which he would never see again. From the quidditch pitch came the distant sounds of the end of term friendship match, the high tinny shriek of the penalty whistle overlaid with the garbled voice of the announcer and the roar of the assembled teams and spectators. Remus felt worlds away from all of that, somehow already outside of it all, somehow already looking back in.

The end of term feast was sparsely attended, the castle decimated by lost students and those that had dropped out mid term and gone home in fear; the only students who seemed to be enjoying themselves were the remaining first and second years. The Slytherin table was almost empty although every house was doing their best to hide and by the same turn ignore their own empty seats. The most notable absence was that of Dumbledore; his empty seat at the high table a stark and sucking emptiness. 

No one ate, they simply stared back and forth at one another, opening their mouths as if to speak and then realizing they had nothing to say. Even Peter, who Remus had never known to turn down a meal, simply picked at his plate, grey-faced and frightened. The silence in the Great Hall was oppressive, practically physical, as though in order to speak one had to chew through it. 

By the time the ceiling in the Great Hall had changed to sunset Dumbledore still had not returned. So it was McGonagall, terse and tense-jawed with an anxiety she clearly thought she was hiding better, who stood to deliver the farewell address. This was obviously a change of plans as she, fumbling with an elegance that only she possessed, clenched her jaw tightly and said, simply;

“Well, I suppose that’s it then.” 

There was some confused tittering among the younger students as they were shepherded out into the hall by their house prefects, some confused shouts of “that’s all?!”. To Remus, standing with the other Seventh Years, to file through the door to the side of the dais, not down to the Hogwarts express this time, but towards the lake, it felt as though no more words were needed. This  _ was _ it. Everything  _ had  _ come to an end. 

The boats floated like petals on the black lake in perfect formation without an oarsman in sight. The sunset painted the water in shades of red and purple, putting Remus in mind of the ten plagues of Egypt; blood in the water, the death of the firstborn son.

“Christ,” Frank Longbottom said, playfully as they made their way down the path away from the castle “I remember ‘em being bigger” 

So did Remus. They’d been nearly impossibly gigantic to him then; the shapes of them resolving out of the trees had been akin to arcane hieroglyphs, so hard to make out in their entirety and yet they’d promised wonders. 

He remembered, with a sudden striking clarity, that first trip out across the water. He’d sat with Sirius, he realized, though he hadn’t known him then. They’d steadfastly ignored each other, Sirius, his hair slicked back with his father’s pomade had bit his nails and looked away into the dark while Remus had stared in wonderment at the castle resolving itself like a mirage against the horizon. It had felt like coming home, like stepping off a cliff; the sensation of leaving everything he’d ever known behind and moving towards something better. He didn’t feel that way now. It felt as though by stepping into that boat, everything he’d ever loved would disappear.

He sat with Sirius again, though this time their knees touched in the middle of the boat, legs too long, bodies grown far bigger and ganglier than they were at eleven. Sirius bit his nails just the same and Remus watched the towers of the castle, which rose, crown-like, behind Sirius’ head slowly fade over the horizon. He longed, with a child’s plaintiveness, to leap into the middle of the lake and swim its length, to run back to the castle and hide. 

Long after the castle had disappeared from view, Sirius remained, grim-lipped and staring resolutely at the approaching shore, his knee against the inside of Remus’ thigh an anchor, a grounding warmth. Remus missed it when the time came to disembark. 

“What are you doing now?” asked Sirius, lighting a cigarette with one hand and slinging his duffle bag over his shoulder with the other.

All around them people who had until only moments before been classmates were gathering their things, hugging, promising to write, then, in groups or singly, disapperating into thin air. The light coming through the pine trees sent crosshatched shadows, bloody with sunset, skittering across the ground. He wondered if he’d be alone when he looked up. 

Sirius was still there, head cocked waiting for a response, blowing smoke out his nose.

Remus shrugged. He’d had half a mind to apparate back to his mother’s, to return, dejected and beaten to a home-cooked meal and a bed he was too big for now. But something about it seemed anticlimactic, like returning back to where he started. 

“I’ve got a room at the Leaky Cauldron for the night,” Sirius said “so do the others. I - we really want you to stay. Only if you’d want to of course” 

Remus did want to, an incredible amount “I -” he spent a moment casting around blindly for any excuse. “I don’t have the money for a room”

Sirius scoffed, waving his hands in a “whatever” gesture. “You can bunk with me” 

Remus remembered the feeling of Sirius’ knee against his in the boat, the press of his body lying next to him on that large bed in the Potter house with the moonlight coming through the window in stripes of heavenly blue and felt as though all the air had been forcibly punched from his lungs. He wanted to feel that again.  _ It’s the last time _ he reasoned, it couldn’t hurt. 

“Brilliant!” Sirius beamed before Remus had even said anything, linking his arm through Remus’ and, with a sharp drop in pressure, apparating them away. 

\---

The Diagon Alley they found themselves in the middle of was a shell of bombed-out storefronts and boarded up windows. Gone were the bright colors and eye-catching sidewalk displays, the organ grinder with his trained pixie on a fine gold chain who had always been Remus’ particular favorite, the hordes of unaccompanied children laughing and smiling who used to rush from the candy shop to the ice cream parlour and back again. In their place, people hurried about their business, collars turned up to hide their faces while the vacant eyes of the buildings watched the water-damaged remains of missing posters blow up and down the empty street; the torn photos on them still smiling, unawares. 

Remus shuddered at the  _ desolation  _ of it all, feeling as though he and the others had fallen into some mythic afterlife by mistake; far too alive. Lily clung tightly to James’ arm, several paces ahead, her hair a bright point of fire amidst the gloom. 

The Leaky Cauldron was perhaps the only thing that had remained unchanged though, Remus would admit, the Inn had always had an air of the decrepit and well-worn. Here were the same gritty windows, the same down-at-heel clientele who pulled their pints closer to their chests in distrust at the opening of the door, the same pall of pipe smoke and burnt toast lingering in the air. 

Tom the inkeep, balding and growing stooped with middle age, met them at the front door rubbing his hands in a dishcloth. The movement put Remus in mind of some kind of overly friendly arachnid.

“Ah! Master Potter!” said Tom, bowing, face alight with his painful-looking smile then, catching sight of Sirius proceeded to nearly trip himself up in his haste to take his bag “Master Black, it’s truly an honour to serve a member of your esteemed family ... “ 

“Oh shove it, Tom,” said Sirius, rolling his eyes.

“Yes, yes,” said Tom “as you wish, sir”.

Sirius seemed to be ignoring it but there was a fear in Tom’s eyes, something of the cornered rabbit about his movements. Remus realized, with a sinking feeling, how little he really knew about Sirius outside of the context of school, whether the fascinated stares and barely hidden mumbling behind his back was normal for Sirius. Several people got up and left the room, casting disgusted glances at their small circle. It made Remus profoundly uncomfortable, made him feel too seen, too hyper-visible to the rest of the room, as though he was being looked  _ through _ and evaluated based purely on his proximity to the Pure Blood heir to London society. Sirius, for his part, leaned rakishly against the counter and picked at his nails appearing as unbothered as anything. 

The room Sirius had taken was at the end of the second-floor hallway, next door to Lily and James and across from Peter. Compared to Sirius’ old room at the Potters’ it was a hovel but the flagged floor was clean and the window, which looked out over the gloomy Alley, was large enough to let some of the last remaining glimmers of twilight into the room. There was only one bed but Remus reasoned that he could build a barrier of pillows or something to keep them apart in the night. 

Sirius cast the charm to light the candles and flopped down on his back in the middle of the bed, which creaked alarmingly under the sudden change in weight. Remus turned towards the bureau and set about unpacking, mostly to give him something to do that  _ wasn’t _ directly related to Sirius. 

“Huh,” said Sirius, staring at the ceiling, bottom lip pulled between his teeth, “I thought it would feel different, everything being over” 

Remus watched Sirius in the mirror that hung over the bureau, the long dark-leather slouch of him like an oil-slick across the middle of the bed. 

“I wish it wasn’t,” he said, at last, feeling a little shy about it. The loss hadn’t quite set in yet but the core of emptiness inside him had been growing since the lake, as though the floor had dropped out of the world. 

“Think of it though, Rem!” said Sirius, throwing his hands in the air “we’re free! We can do anything we please The future is ours!” There was a hint of a smile in his voice, some kind of hidden irony but his eyes that met Remus’ in the mirror were earnest. Remus almost laughed aloud at the terrifyingly privileged optimism of the sentiment. 

“For you may be” he said, keeping his tone light “I’ve never been able to do as I please”

He turned to face Sirius properly, bracing his hands on the chest of drawers behind him. Sirius rolled onto his side, propping himself up on an elbow. Like this, faced with the full power of Sirius’ cut-glass stare, Remus realized with mounting terror how small the room really was; how close they were. 

“We can do anything we please,” Sirius said again, softer, as though by repeating it he could make it true, his expression unreadable in its intensity. “What pleases you?”

“I-” it felt as though hands were closing round his throat, Sirius’ gaze a physical entity seeking to bore straight through his chest into the meaty, unsure heart of him. Remus felt a bit as though he was seeing Sirius for the first time; those familiar laughing eyes, the pink of his bitten lips, the strange arctic-pale rainbow of his skin and the nearly visible pulse of blood beneath it, those precious thin-skinned places where Remus longed to put his mouth.

Sirius reached out, almost as though he was afraid of what he would find; his shaking hand coming to rest on the outside of Remus’ thigh. It felt as though all the air had been sucked from the room. Remus found himself fighting for air and yet unable to move; his field of view narrowed down to Sirius’ eyes. Sirius opened his mouth as if to say something, the tremulous weight of his hand heavy as a millstone against Remus’ skin.

The knock at the door nearly caused Remus to yelp with fright and sent them careening away from each other as though suddenly scalded. Remus knocked his hip painfully against the edge of the bureau, the sharp bruising pain of it shocking. The tension between him and Sirius shattered like a dropped crystal bowl, the sound of it as delicate as it was damning. 

“Come on, ye layabouts!” shouted James, thumping on the door like he was trying to break it down “we’re going to go get absolutely pissed in celebration of our freedom!” 

“Yes! Coming!” Sirius shouted, a little shakily and much too loudly. He bounded away and threw open the door, disappearing out of it and, from the sounds of things, into James’ waiting noogie. Remus remained, glued to the spot, staring at the wall. 

“Coming, Remmy?” It was Lily, poking her head through the still open door looking to round up their little crew, a herding dog bringing all her ducks into the safety and quiet of the duck-house. 

“Yeah,” he said, wincing at the crack in his voice “coming” 

She looked at him with concern but said nothing all the walk down to the pub for which he was grateful. 

They settled into a round table near the back of the pub, crowding into it giggling like children. James and Sirius played paper scissors stone over the first round. Sirius lost, predictably, and they sent him grumbling up to the bar for pints and shots. Remus watched him go, his heart, not quite yet recovered from the events upstairs, sent rocketing wildly against his ribcage again.

“Voila” Sirius announced, depositing the tray with their drinks on it in the middle of the table. He didn’t look at Remus directly as he divvied out the glasses, lining them up equidistant around the table. One shot, one pint; little glass soldiers standing in formation, sweating in the warmth.

“I think we should have a toast!” suggested Lily, brightly, taking a sip of her pint and elbowing James in the ribs “seems fitting”. 

James stood and lifted his shot glass aloft. With the mocking solemnity of a vicar he cleared his throat and began, in his best imitation of Binns:

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today in the  _ summer _ of our discontent to celebrate… something. Anyway, with all the power vested in us by seven years of grueling academics, I now pronounce us free! Amen” 

“That was terrible,” Peter said while Lily clapped sarcastically.

“Well I’m not done yet!” 

Something in his expression softened from sarcasm to sincerity, a quieting of his usual bravado. He looked at each of them in turn, dark eyes kind. For a moment Remus could see it - behind the awkward teenage nose and the baby fat that still clung to the contours of his face - the kind and regal man that James would become. 

“To…” James faltered, his eyes glittering in the candlelight “Something new!” 

“Hear hear!” shouted Sirius, breaking the mood by banging his palm on the table and throwing back the shot in one. The others followed suit, except for Peter who sipped at his and put it down, face twisting in disgust. If the others noticed that Sirius was acting overly loud or how his hands shook against the tabletop no one said anything. 

James got the next round and for a while, they basked in a seemingly comfortable gold-tinted companionship. Remus kept trying to catch Sirius’ eyes across the table but Sirius kept carefully avoiding him. He’d drop his gaze to the table, to his hands, suddenly become very interested in braiding Lily’s hair. It hurt, but the hurt gave Remus something to focus on. 

There were three more rounds of drinks during which Remus began to dread the end to the evening. A part of him wanted to simply get up and leave, go back to his mother’s and wallow in self-pity and the ghosts of what might have been. The fact of the matter was, it was late, the drinks kept coming, and he had the sinking feeling that if he walked away from this he’d never make up for it. 

Peter had his head pillowed on his crossed arms and was moaning about something inane while James absentmindedly patted his back when the silence was shattered by a shout from the bar.

“Fascist! Blood Supremacist!” 

A witch in a tattered traveling cloak was turned their way. Clearly plastered she gripped the back of her stool with white knuckles. Her eyes were wild, face flushed with fear and drink. 

Like frightened animals the entire pub lifted their heads, seeking out the cause of the commotion. For a moment Remus thought there had been some mistake, that she was speaking to someone else, but her gaze remained fixed on their little table; terror mixing with fury behind her eyes.

“Sirius Black!” She advanced, tottering, a shaking finger extended to Sirius. She dropped into a sarcastic curtsy “oh forgive me your dark majesty, nothing to say? Let me grovel”

“Oi!” shouted James, half standing, confused and alive suddenly “What are you on about?!” 

“And you!” she turned an accusing finger on the rest of them “you’re just as bad, consorting with this  _ scum _ ” she spat, the thick yellow globule of it landing squarely on Sirius’ shoulder. He didn’t so much as flinch. James made as though to lunge at her but was held firmly back by Lily who, to her credit, looked just as murderous. Remus’ lungs had dropped into the pit of his stomach, he couldn’t move suddenly, couldn’t speak, too bowled over by the shock of it all.

“Where is my brother you piece of shit?” she spat, baring her teeth “Where are you keeping him?! And don’t say you don’t know, it was your fucking whore of a cousin what took him, and the others” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about” Said Sirius, “i’m sorry” Remus could see the muscles in his jaw working as he ground his teeth, his gaze firmly fixed on the middle of the table. 

“You’re  _ sorry _ !” she mocked “ _ You’re _ sorry!” abruptly she took a gasping breath and collapsed into tears, her wailing tinged with the same horrifying note as the cold shriek of a rabbit in a bear trap; it was the kind of cry of broken bones and mortal injury. It echoed like a ghost around the room and made Remus’ hair stand on end. 

“Imelda, love, come away” one of the men at a neighboring table had stood and was making his way towards the crumpled woman on the floor “don’t bother them, it’s not the place” his hands shook as he helped her to her feet, and slowly backed them away towards the door “You have my sincerest apologies on behalf of my friend, Master Black, she’s not all with it, you see. Please, if you have it in your heart to forgive her…” He looked as though he’d run out of things to say, simply lingered in the doorway, for a moment as though bracing for something to happen. 

“I’m going to bed” Sirius said, standing abruptly, his expression pained. He took his bottle from the table and strode from the room, looking neither right nor left, jaw lifted in some kind of play at defiance; the heavy stomp of his work boots up the stairs echoing like rolling thunder. 

It was as though all the air had gone from the room, sucked out by the muttering that suddenly filled the bar. Remus felt hot and confused and angry, shaken both by the women’s tirade and by how Sirius had done nothing to defend himself.

“I think…” said James, white as a sheet staring uncomprehendingly at the door through which the woman and her companion had vanished. 

“Yeah” said Peter. 

As one the four of them stood and went to their rooms. 

Remus found Sirius sitting on the end of the bed, his head in his hands. The leather jacket and an abandoned rag sat next to him, dead things keeping him company. He was lifeless, limp, without a response to what had happened downstairs. His lack of movement was terrifying. 

“Why didn’t you fight back?” Remus practically shouted, slamming the door shut. He was furious, with himself, with the woman at the bar, with Sirius for rolling over and dying. 

“They’ll think what they want of me no matter what I say or do,'' Sirius said, sighing as though he was explaining a simple concept to a particularly dense child “At this point fighting back would only make them hate me more. To them, I’ll always be tainted because of my family. To my family, I’ll always be tainted by...  _ everything else _ . I don’t belong anywhere” 

The resignation in Sirius’ tone brought Remus up short. He’d never known Sirius to resign himself to  _ anything _ without a fight. This new, quiet and non-confrontational Sirius was a stranger, and, Remus would never admit it, but it  _ scared _ him. There was something larger at work here, something that Remus knew, in his heart of hearts, he was better off not knowing. This infuriated him, half hurt by the idea that there was something so awful that Sirius couldn’t (wouldn’t) share it with him, half glad that he didn’t have to know. He cursed in exasperation, turning in a furious circle with no place to go, feeling Sirius’ level gaze on his back like a brand.

“I love you,” Sirius said, after a long, charged silence, because that’s what he always said, because Sirius loved everyone and meant nothing by it. 

“Piss off” Remus replied, still facing the wall. He was teetering suddenly, wildly on the edge of the abyss he’d been circling all day, since that night at the top of the astronomy tower in fifth year, since long before even that.

“I mean it” 

“And dogs love to eat their own vom” 

“Be serious” the raw emotion in his voice brought Remus up short. There was something plaintive there, something so unbearably young and afraid that it made the scared young part of Remus’ soul ache in sympathy. 

“Please, Remus. I don’t know what I’m doing or where I stand, the world is changing and we may all be dead by tomorrow. Please come here” 

Remus went. 

Sirius’ mouth was soft and warm beneath his, the barest scratch of stubble sending strikes of electricity from the top of his head to his toes. Remus, moving like a sleepwalker, bent like a sunflower towards the sun. Sirius sighed, the softest sound, his hands coming up, shaky as birds, to run up Remus’ side. Remus felt himself melting into it, Sirius’ warmth, the scent of him, clambering onto the bed, bracketing Sirius’ thighs with his knees and his jaw with his hands. 

They kissed as though they were drowning; Remus pouring every ounce of loneliness and uninhibited tension into Sirius’ mouth. Sirius gave back everything he took, his tongue hot as molten lead, licking its way into Remus’ mouth as though in benediction.  _ Take of my body _ Remus thought, unbidden, and almost laughed at the absurdity.

Sirius gasped out a sigh against Remus’ mouth, (oh how he wanted to chase that sound), and pulled away. Remus made to follow his mouth, a desperate lunge towards salvation again, but Sirius held him fast; hands anchored, so gently, against his chest. His eyes, when they met Remus’s, were blown wide with passion, the dark pools of them so different from his usual stunning grey. 

“I want -” Sirius said then paused, bringing his mouth back to Remus’ in another kiss, closed-mouthed and tender. His breath was harsh, his voice roughened with emotion “I won’t do anything you don’t want, I swear I could never hurt you…But I...We can stop if you...” The uncertainty in his voice, the way his body stiffened beneath Remus’ hands, almost broke him. 

“I want everything,” Remus admitted, surprised by the truth of it. Sirius’ lips against his were the most perfect thing he had ever felt, and he wondered, like he had never truly let himself wonder, if the rest of Sirius against him would feel as good. He wanted to know, and the urgency of that  _ want _ terrified him. 

Sirius sighed at the admission, body curling forward, hips canting up. Remus swallowed a gasp at the feeling of Sirius’ hard cock suddenly making itself known against the inside of his thigh. He felt himself, unbidden, rock forward in answer, finding his own cock, until this moment unnoticed, hard and wanting in his trousers. Something predatory came to life behind Sirius’ eyes, a devilish quirk to his kiss-slick mouth, a minute raising of eyebrows. Remus had never felt so naked while still clothed; exhilaration and  _ want _ warred with prudishness inside him. 

Sirius leaned back, lifting his shirt over his head and tossing it somewhere on the floor. The sight of the newly exposed skin, the pink pebbles of his nipples, made Remus’ mouth dry, his heart thunder into overdrive, his hands itch with the desire to  _ touch _ . They’d seen each other in various states of undress before, naturally, but somehow this - the sight of Sirius’ chest laid bare before him and only him - felt like an offering. Like a sleepwalker, he reached out to touch. Sirius’ skin beneath his fingertips was warm and smooth, the shudder of his breath echoing in the cavern beneath his ribs sending shivers up Remus’ arm. 

“I…” he almost spoke, almost said something but Sirius’ insistent fingers at the hem of his jumper stopped him. 

He stood, pulling his jumper and shirt over his head together, getting a little tangled in his desperate effort to get back to Sirius’ warmth. Coming, blinking back into the brightness of the room, he had to take a moment to restart his brain. 

Sirius had removed his trousers and was lounging on the bed, fully nude. He was a long, lean line against the coverlet, the snowy paleness of his skin dusted with freckles along his collarbones and shoulders, his cock, standing straight and to attention curled up towards his stomach from amidst a patch of coarse dark hair. That same challenging glint was in his eyes as he seemed to preen under Remus’ disbelieving stare. 

“What pleases you?” Sirius asked, softly, a retreading of that old conversation given a sudden, blinding, new context. One hand, bit-nailed and stained with ink, reached towards the exposed skin of Remus’ waist while the other wrapped around his cock, stroking gently, angling his face towards Remus in a question. His hand against Remus’ side was hot and heavy as a brand. Remus followed the slow travel of Sirius’ other hand up and down the length of his cock with a hunger he’d never felt before; a bone-deep and terrifying need to devour. 

Remus rushed to Sirius again, practically tripping himself on his trousers and pants in his hurry to remove them. The feeling of Sirius’ naked body beneath his own oversensitized skin - Sirius’ steady hand against his side, Sirius’ hard cock catching and rubbing against his own - sent a bubble of emotion through him that broke through the seal of their lips in a moan. Remus lost himself for a long moment, reveling into the heat between them, their panting breaths, the gentle pull of Sirius’ fingers in his hair. 

Suddenly Remus found himself on his back with Sirius over him, trailing hell-hot kisses over his throat, his collarbones, the thin-skinned hollow place beneath his jaw. Remus had to bite the inside of his wrist to keep from crying out with the simple overwhelm of it, craning his neck to meet Sirius’ hungry gaze as he licked a shiver-bright stripe over his right nipple. Sirius moved lower; his hungry mouth leaving a trail of burning kisses down the midline of Remus’ chest, his stomach, sending Remus’ hips bucking mindlessly, rutting his dripping cock into the soft plane of Sirius’ stomach. 

“The lights!” he gritted out, squeezing his eyes tight against the vision of Sirius leaning lower, his open mouth, the feeling of his firm, wet tongue against Remus’ cock. He wanted to see it - wanted to watch his own cock disappear between those kiss-pink lips, watch the way Sirius bobbed his head and sucked in his cheeks on each upstroke, how he held his hair out of the way with one hand and anchored himself, white-knuckled, to Remus’ hip with the other - but he knew if he did it would be all over, far too soon. The selfish part of Remus hoped that they could do this again and again and again so many times that Remus would have the sight memorized. But for now it was too much; to see  _ and  _ feel. 

Sirius obligingly doused the candles with a simple wandless spell then, in the same breath, bent and took Remus’ entire cock in his mouth. 

Remus gasped, or would have had there been any air left in his lungs. Instead, his eyes flew open and he shuddered as though electrified, legs pinned beneath Sirius’ weight, feeling the soft, fragile passage of Sirius’ throat moving restlessly around his cockhead as Sirius fought for air. 

“Oh  _ oh! Fuck”  _

A moment longer and Remus would have cum. Sirius, as though he had sensed it, pulled back with a satisfied sigh and began working his way back up Remus’ body. He was methodical, thorough, mapping each silvery scar on Remus’ body with lips and gentle fingers as though Remus was something to be held in careful hands, as though he was worth something. The real-live warmth of Sirius held against those flickering shards of himself was too much, too close.  _ And yet who else could it have been? _ He reasoned  _ who else could it ever be.  _ He felt too big for his own skin suddenly, overcome by an emotion he couldn’t name. He simply gasped into the pleasure-pain of it and pulled Sirius’ mouth to his in a desperate kiss.

“Fuck me, Remus” Sirius said at last, his lips shining in the dim light, expertly fitting Remus’ Ironwood hard cock into the cleft of his ass with a clever roll of his hips. The feeling caused him to sigh; an electric spike of hot pleasure from his balls to the crown of his head. He  _ wanted _ in a way that he had seldom allowed himself to want; a tinge of the wolf about it, something possessive and almost violent. 

“Have you ever?” Sirius asked, breathless, his mouth hot against Remus’ throat. 

Remus shook his head, his hands reaching blindly for Sirius’ back, the smooth rounds of his buttocks, his lightly furred thighs, each new texture and shape a revelation, a spark of clarity in the darkness. Sirius grinned, the expression more felt than seen, and whispered something incomprehensible.  _ A lubrication spell _ Remus’ mind provided in the short moment before Sirius wrapped a slick hand around his cock to guide it into the tight hot place between his legs and all higher function in Remus’ brain shorted out for good. 

Remus gasped into the salt-sweat hollow of Sirius’ throat, thrusting into that perfect tight heat without meaning to. Sirius cried out, a high clear note of pleasure, the inside of him shivering around Remus’ cock. Slowly, torturously, Sirius started to move, lifting and falling back in something far too shaky and inexperienced to be a rhythm. Remus groaned, burying his face in the sparse hair of Sirius’ chest, smelling their combined bodies in the heavy space between them. 

It became too much suddenly and Remus flipped them, covering Sirius’ body with his own, whispering silent confessions into the soft skin on the inside of Sirius’ knee as he bent the other man in half and set a rhythm of his own. 

Sirius keened and whined beneath him, long-fingers pulling at Remus’ hair, at his shoulders, trying to bring them, impossibly, closer. He gripped at Sirius’ cock with one shaky hand. Sirius’ cock was slick and silky-firm and twitching at his touch. He didn’t know what he was doing simply tried, and mostly failed, to keep a steady rhythm on Sirius’ cock while he chased his own pleasure inside the pliant body beneath him. 

He was close, so close, the wind-rush precipice of pleasure suddenly too close to be avoided.

“Sirius -” he started in warning, then faltered as Sirius gasped out the sound of the world ending and came, back bowing off the bed, hot wetness spilling, his hole fluttering and pulsing around Remus. The half-glimpsed vision of Sirius’ face contorted in pleasure was enough to have Remus grunting out his own climax; the sensation of his own spend in Sirius’ hole sending him shivering into a second wave of it. 

They rested like that for a long moment, panting and dry mouthed as though they had just run for miles, Remus’ softening cock slipping wetly out of Sirius’ hole. Sirius was a vision in the dim light, chest heaving with breath, his knees spread, hair like a curtain of shadow around his sweat-shiny face. Remus almost said something but the pounding of blood in his ears was too much. The room smelled of sex and sweaty closeness but Remus couldn’t bring himself to care, simply let the wave of bone-deep contentment and exhaustion wash over him. He had to lay down, had to take Sirius in his arms, kiss his forehead, pull him close, smell that same musk on his skin - so that was what he did. 

“Did you mean it?” he asked, much later, after Sirius had cleaned them both up and settled down again with his arms around Remus and his face buried against the curve of Remus’ spine “ Did you mean it when you said … what you said” 

Sirius didn’t reply, simply snored a little, shuffling his face closer into the back of Remus’ neck in his sleep. 


End file.
